Worlds Within
by SirKriS
Summary: It's a Master's Sun AU (yes, I do mean the Korean Drama). A fellow Sherlollian asked for the AU on Tumblr and I decided to go through with it. Characters will be OC for the purpose of the story but I hope it still works. The full summary is in the 1st chapter. Rating may change later on.
1. Stormy Night

_**Summary:** Molly Hooper formed an ability an ability to hear and see ghosts after being involved in a car accident years ago. Terrified by the ghosts that surround her, she is unable to life an ordinary life, let alone strive for one, until she meets Sherlock Holmes one fateful night. Sherlock is an ambitious CEO of the acclaimed 'Homer Holmes' hotel chain. His sole desire to grow his fortune has rendered him a cold-hearted business man who tends to measure the value the worth of those around him in terms of money and function. After Molly seeks employment in his company and he becomes familiar with her ghost world, Sherlock comes to trust and eventually fall in love with her. But will he be able to help her overcome her fears and take control of her life once more?_

**A/N: That's the gist of the story. Sorry, I'm terrible with summaries. Hope you like it anyway :)**

* * *

It was a dark and stormy night. As dramatic and somewhat cliché as that sounded in her head, that was all Molly could think of to describe the raging weather outside. The unreliable weatherman had promised a cloudy evening with a small chance of showers. Only now did she consider herself a fool for having hoped he was right. Such dreary weather had a tendency to set up a sinister mood her special circumstances could do without.

Molly drew out a controlled breath before resuming her activities. Separating the trash and other mundane tasks normally helped her stay calm, but their therapeutic effect didn't seem t be working for her that night. She couldn't help but flinch when a rather loud stroke of thunder broke through the night sky. At that moment she was rueful of Mrs. Hudson's decision to leave the high windows bare (not that anyone could reach up that high to set up curtains anyway). As if called on by her thoughts, the cheerful landlady called out to her from the balcony above.

"Molly, would you be a dear and clear out the 3rd floor room? It would seem that it's vacant again." Heart rate picked up speed at the mention of the room. She really had been trying to avoid that floor since the previous tenant's departure. Though she groaned internally, Molly was able to deliver an enthusiastic 'sure' to the sweet landlady. After all, she was the night manager, and with Mrs. Hudson's hips, the room wouldn't be ready in time for the new tenant that was to arrive in two days.

She was already walking up the stairs when Mrs. Hudson spoke on. "I would help dear, but I'll be needing my soothers." Molly gave her an understanding smile as she watched the landlady retreat back to her room.

Her heart rate picked up and the sense of dread in her abdomen weighed on her with every step she made up to the room. _Maybe there won't be anything_, she tried to reassure herself. She could be working herself up for nothing. Upon arriving at the half-open door, Molly cautiously nudged it. It creaked slowly to reveal that the room was in fact empty. Drawing out a relieved breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, she set about surveying the room. The previous tenant had been neat. There was barely anything left behind save some dust bunnies and scattered trinkets.

Deciding that it was easier to dispose of the things first, she began to pick them up one by one. It wasn't until she had reached out to open the top dresser that a chill ran through the room, followed by the lights flickering in and out. _Please let that be a blown fuse_, she prayed quietly to herself. She glanced toward the and noted that the corridor lights were still on. The crazy seemed to be contained to just this room. Somehow, that wasn't much of a comforting thought.

A bolt of lightning struck through the window, lighting up the room momentarily long enough to see a huddled form at the corner. A terrified squeak escaped her when it turned to give her a curious look. The look itself was unnerving, especially when she realized the corners of the mouth extended to the ends of its sallow face. It wore a tattered nightgown that fell to its ankles. She felt herself stuck in that spot, unable to will herself to do the very thing she wanted to in that moment. The apparition was now walking slowly towards her with a wide grin that faltered when she glanced once more at the door. That seemed to have angered it for its mouth tore open to let out a frightening screech. That was the final catalyst that freed Molly's senses long enough to run out of the room in terror.

The lights above her turned off one by one, indicating that it was chasing after her. She cursed her choice to have the top floor room as she huffed her way up the stairs. Heart thundering through her chest, she slammed her front door behind her and dove for the nearest corner to retreat to. The door rattled after for a moment before it stilled. Besides the howling weather outside, it seemed that all was alright with the world.

Having caught her breath by then, Molly nervously surveyed her dark room for it, but it was nowhere to be seen. Relieved, she gingerly got up to her feet, only to fall back down when the face terrified her back to the floor. Everything screamed in her to flee again, but she knew what she had to do. She stood her ground and looked up at its face. Slowly but surely, the ghost's features reverted to the face of an old woman who, despite her form moments ago, looked warm and kind. _Why can't they just look normal from the start?_ She shut her eyes, waiting for her body to catch up with the situation. Even before the old woman spoke, Molly knew what it was going to be. A request. They almost always wanted something from her.

"Right now?" Molly almost whined. She knew it was only early evening but she wasn't willing to go anywhere what with the unpleasant weather outside. But the ghost relented, giving her an imploring look she couldn't turn away from; not that she needed it. She knew the ghost would harass her to no end until she got what it needed from her. Having only managed to sleep for 3 hours that week, Molly wasn't willing to endanger what little rest she would be able to have that night.

'Please' the ghost whispered, reminding Molly she had to make a decision immediately, not unless she wanted to be harassed for the rest of the night. With a reluctant nod, she got up and head back to the 3rd floor with the ghost literally breathing down her neck the entire time.

* * *

"So Mr. Hope—" Sherlock began.

"Please, call me Jeff. Mr Hope was my father."

Sherlock provided a tight smile when inside he was actually fuming. The man in front of him. Jeff Hope, age 58 whose occupation was a cabbie happened to have a house on a piece of valuable land he so happened needed to acquire.

He had convinced the surrounding residents to sell; so had Jeff until six hours ago when he called to deny the offer. Purchasing his home was crucial for his expansion plans, and so Sherlock had no choice but to visit him personally with his assistant, John Watson, to renegotiate. They were now in the man's living room with a set of tea he estimated should not cool before he was done rectifying the situation.

"If you're unhappy about the price then I would be willing to negotiate a higher—"

"I don't want your money," Jeff interrupted. The more he looked at the man the more irritated. Was he just being greedy? No, his body language suggested some protective element, however, money had never failed to and was about to try again when Jeff explained.

"My wife doesn't want me to sell."

"Sorry," Jeff turned to John who had spoken up. "do you mean your dead wife?"

"Yes." He smiled warmly. "Her spirit is with me in this house."

Sherlock retreated further back into the seat and had carefully lined his hands under his chin and was watching Jeff. Normally a posture of contemplation, John could also tell by his tightening jaw that he was irritated and thought it best if he were to explore this line of conversation.

"Her spirit is here?" John asked cautiously.

"Yes she is, and she doesn't want me to sell."

"And uh, how did you realize that that was her wish?" Although he had not formed an opinion as to whether the man was crazy or not, John couldn't help but be curious to find out where Jeff was going with this.

Jeff looked past them to the table under the mirror and the they turned back to see what he was looking at.

"That white rose. It was her favourite."

"Ah" Sherlock said, apparently having understood something. Noticing John's utter confusion Jeff explained. "When I first agreed to sell the house last week, it started to wilt and die but," his face lit up at the recollection, "when I came to reconsider that decision, it suddenly bloomed back to life."

John was amazed to see Sherlock offer an understanding smile. If he didn't know better, he would have thought he was somehow touched.

"Well then I suppose I will have to talk to her then." Sherlock could tell that Jeff was utterly convinced that his wife's 'spirit' was present and that was enough for him to carry on with his intention. He jumped up to his feet, much to the surprise of the men and walked towards the flower in question.

"May I?" Sherlock asked politely, gesturing towards the flower. John wasn't sure where he was going with this, but it was clear he was it was going to be insulting.

"Mr. Holmes," he called out in warning. Jeff looked up at Sherlock warily before letting him continue. He gave a polite smile before scanning the small craft basket on the table He fished out a small pair of scissors before focusing on the flower in question. Clearing his throat, Sherlock addressed the rose.

"Mrs. Hope I have learned from your husband that you do not wish him to sell the house. I however, must acquire it. Are you really against this? If so, please nod your head, otherwise I will have to cut your rose bud off."

Jeff shot up angrily. "What the hell are you doing!"

"I'm negotiating with your flower wife." Sherlock replied as a matter of factly. "But if you are concerned about the the nod being too rash then I can speed the conditions along." He then returned his attention back to it.

"I will give you to the count of three to nod your head or show some other fantastic gesture to indicate your opinion. If before then you have not done so, then I assure you I will trim your rose and have your husband sign over the house."

John noted that Jeff was all but ready to implode. He didn't doubt that Sherlock would do it, and that was the problem.

"One…"

"Is he serious?" Jeff looked desperately at the baffled John.

"Two…"

"Sherlock!" John hissed. _How in the world did he expect to win this if he was pissing off the client?_

"Three…" Without hesitation, Sherlock cut off the head of the rose, the bud falling uncermeoniously into the pot.

"Now Jeff," he said turning back to face the pale man, "if you've come back to your senses would you sign the document like we had agreed."

"You have no right!" Jeff spluttered, pointing an accusatory finger at Sherlock who sighed.

"No," he drawled. "But I am aware of your financial and medical circumstances. I believe you were recently diagnosed with something terminal. A tumor of some sort yes?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes knowingly when Jeff stiffened at the suggestion of the illness and so continued.

"Probably something head related like an aneurysm going by the medication you left on your kitchen counter for the headaches. You cannot afford not to die and leave your children penniless whom, if I may add, are actually very keen to the idea you selling this house. So please do yourself a favor and sign on that dotted line so that my assistant and we will be on our merry way."

"H-how—" Jeff stuttered.

"He's observant," John responded.

Offering only a smile, Sherlock gestured to John to give the man.

For a split second, Mr. Hope was about to rip the paper in half when he seemed to think better of it and begrudgingly took the pen offered by John to finally sign the paper.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Sherlock offered a more genuine smile to the defeated man now. Happy that his plans were on schedule again, he figured he could offer that much.

"Your boss is a cruel bastard you know that?"

"People have said worse," John smiled apologetically before standing up to join Sherlock out the door.

"Congratulations Jeff, I've made you a very rich man tonight. Have a good night."

It was a miracle Sherlock hadn't been punched yet, John thought to himself. Jeff looked like he was itching to do so.

"I don't care what you say, I know my wife is here! Just because you can't see something doesn't mean it isn't there! Don't make fun of a person's sincerity."

With the contract signed, Sherlock felt he had some degree of freedom to express his irritation. "You may enjoy your deluded assumptions about the after life. I will continue to live comfortably with what I can observe."

"I swear you should be struck by lightning for your words!"

"Then I welcome myself to be struck by lightning right this moment."

To indicate just how serious he was, Sherlock stepped out into the rain and dropped his umbrella for a few seconds, embracing the heavens to strike him. John looked on with alarm, half convinced that something would actually happen when nothing did. Satisfied that he had made his point, he politely gave Mr. Hope a slight bow before walking to his car, a flustered John in close pursuit. Before they could enter, Sherlock stopped to address Jeff once more.

"Friendly word of advice, you might want to go back to the hospital for another check up. A change of medication might be in order."

* * *

Molly turned back towards the home she had just left. After her frightening encounter with Mrs. Wilson's ghost, she had one through with her request to delivered checkbook she had left back in the 3rd floor room to her son, James Wilson. It might have been the large family, or the miserable atmosphere, but no one really questioned her presence when she interrupted their waking for the dead woman.

Apparently Mrs. Wilson had left behind documents to secret savings account she had opened for a son, and wanted him to receive it right after her demise. It was much to Molly's displeasure when she heard the son discuss plans to bet on a horse the following week with the hard earned money his mother had saved up to pay for his existing debts. She couldn't help but feel outraged for the late Mrs. Wilson, and was astounded when the ghost looked on with much content in her eyes before disappearing.

Molly was relieved to see her ghost move on, but now she had to figure out a way to get back to Baker Street. She had taken a cab to get here but was doubtful she would be able to hail one at this time of night. Thankfully it wasn't raining as hard as it was before and so she resigned to walking along the road in the hopes that a kind driver would give her a ride.

She hadn't made it down two blocks before encountering yet another ghost. Fortunately for her apparition seemed to be interested in helping her, and provided Molly with specific instructions to get a ride from a certain car that would be passing by after 5 minutes. Sure enough, 5 minutes later, a sleek black car drove up the street.

"Must be my lucky day!" she squealed in delight as she waved enthusiastically at the car.

* * *

"Do you have to be a prick to everyone you meet?" John and Sherlock were sitting in the car when he had finally blown up. "He was a mourning widower for Christ sake!"

"You are aware that I am your boss and thus have the capacity to fire you for insubordination?" Sherlock drawled.

John scoffed. "Bite me. You know I'm the only capable assistant within a hundred miles that's willing to baby-sit your man-child self. And it helps that you're my best friend."

Sherlock mustered an offended scoff but it wasn't enough to disguise the flattered smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"So you really don't believe in ghosts?" J

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the question. "Oh please. The whimsical ideology of ghosts is a pathetic projection of people's innate desire to hold on to the dead or relinquish their regrets. The very notion of anything supernatural is ludicrous at best. I mean seriously, possessing a rose bud?"

John shrugged his shoulders. "Anything's possible."

"Did you stop to think that his hallucinations could be brought on by his aneurysm?"

John paused to consider that point. Sherlock was right about that. Still, it was no excuse for being a git. "Well you didn't have to burst his bubble like that."

"Then I should mention he was clearly trying to compensate for his ruined marriage. Yes," Sherlock assured when John raised his eyebrows. "They were separated while she was alive. Might have been because he was an alcoholic—did you notice the shaky hands?—his illusions may also have been brought on by his guilt for disappointing her and not wishing to make drastic changes about the house she obviously took meticulous care of."

"And you knew all that from the living room?"

"The evidence was there if you looked hard enough. Now if you're done criticizing my mannerisms, I would like to go home now." With that curt statement, Sherlock grabbed the newspaper beside him and roughly turned the pages to read. John was silent for a few moments.

"You know, you could be a detective what with that profiling thing you do."

"Why in the world would I concern myself with the problems or well-being of others?"

John laughed at his indignant tone. "You're in the service industry."

"It's the money that interests me."

Obviously, he thought. "And what do you do with all the money you earn?"

"Make more of course."

John stared at Sherlock who had not looked up from the newspaper during the exchange. "I take it back. A dragon suits you better. Hoarding your fortune."

John looked at the rear-view mirror in time to see a smirk before returning his attention back on the road. The unexpected weather was a bit difficult to drive safely through. "I see you made the headlines again." he said, referring to the front page of the newspaper. "What poor duchess was caught up in a raunchy affair with you now?"

Sherlock frowned at the suggestion. "It's hardly an affair if I ignore her attentions. And it's not a duchess but an adulterous reporter of some sort given the alarming shade of colors she tends to wear," he said distastefully upon recalling the pink suit she wore. "This picture cropped out her husband who was also present when it was taken. Blind fool," he muttered. "Doesn't even know his wife is a serial adulterer."

He sighed in frustration. "Why do I seem to attract desperate people with nothing better to do? I'm not even her type!"

"You can be charming when you want to be," John smiled. He immediately bit back a laugh when he felt Sherlock glaring quite pointedly at his back.

A comfortable silence fell upon them as John drove on until he noticed a figure standing outside up ahead.

"Sherlock?" he said, slowing slightly. "Someone's trying to flag the car down." The word 'trying' was may have been an understatement. The woman was practically jumping up and down to get their attention.

Sherlock glanced up from the newspaper to see a woman waving at the car. "Ignore her," he responded curtly. "I make it a habit not to pick up suspicious persons off the road."

"But we're nowhere near a main street for her to get a cab."

"Not my problem."

Sherlock smirked when he saw the woman's smile fall as they drove right past her. Almost immediately, a blinding flash of lightning struck in front of the car, causing John to hit the breaks hard.

"What the devil!" Sherlock cried when his forehead hit the front seat in front of him. "What happened?"

John stared widely out the windshield. "Dunno. I think lightning struck or something." Mr. Hope's curse came to mind. _No, it couldn't be_. _Probably a coincidence._

He knew it was unlikely, but felt the need to ask. "Did you hit anything?" Sherlock sighed in relief when John shook his head and settled back in the chair. "Well then let's carry on bef—" His words were suddenly cut off when his side of the door was jumbled open and the woman they had passed squeezed right in.

"Thank you so much! For a second there I thought you would drive past without noticing me."

Molly's face beamed at the strangers in the car who had stopped for her. Obviously the dumbstruck look on the men gave her no pause to realize they weren't expecting her at all.

* * *

**A/N: I hope that wasn't too bad. The next chapter will be uploaded in a few hours. Review if you like/don't like (but especially if you like :D)**


	2. Rose Bud

**A/N: And here's the 2nd chapter as promised. Many thanks to sherlolly-is-jolly who took the time to beta this :)  
**

* * *

Sherlock stared at the stranger dripping beside him. After overcoming the initial shock, he quickly shifted towards the other side of the car; primarily because the intruder was wet but also to keep a safe distance. Her appearance was quite eerie to say the least.

Her hair was plastered to her face with a few wisps splayed across her forehead. She had the darkest eye bags for some one so young. Well, not that young, most likely three or four years younger. _Was it work related?_ he wondered as he noted her hallow cheeks. The unconscious habit of scanning her surroundings pointed to a cautious nature. It was not exactly professional, so Sherlock overruled the possibility she was one of his brother's goons. He decided paranoia must be the underlying factor.

His eyes unconsciously focused on her lips when she gave him a bright smile. They were small, and in the absence of color on her face they were almost invisible making her appear to be that much more ghastly, like she carried the air of death about her. Overall, he assessed that although she wasn't remarkable, she could be deemed attractive.

He couldn't help but think that she might look better were she to blush; her warm brow eyes would probably light up every time she did. _Wait_. Sherlock blinked. _Where was he going with this?_ He fast forwarded his thought process and drew up an appropriate conclusion that did not involve her aesthetics. The most likely explanation for this situation was a naïve girl got caught in the rain and was shameless enough to hitchhike a ride from complete strangers.

"Uh…" John looked back uncertainly at the odd pair in the backseat. Sherlock, who had been screening the new passenger finally looked away. "Do I go on or…?" Deciding that she's unlikely to be a murderous psychopath, he gave John an approving nod to drive on.

Molly looked curiously around the luxurious car as Sherlock did his best to ignore the unwelcome guest. John on the other hand, was not comfortable with the icy silence that hung in the air and so chose to do what Sherlock was determined not to; engage the peculiar passenger in a friendly conversation.

"So, why did you decide to stand there and hitchhike at this time of the night?"

"No cabs would stop for some reason." Molly turned to Sherlock when he scoffed before resorting back to his cool facade. Undeterred by his unfriendly demeanor, she resumed her tale. "So someone told me if I stood there that your car would stop for me."

"Someone who happened to be out here at this time of the night?" John marveled. "That was awfully specific of her."

"Yeah." Molly giggled looking at the brooding man beside her. "She said even if you missed the lightning you wouldn't be able to miss me." Sherlock's eyes darted quickly at her then up at John who wore a look of slight alarm.

Oblivious to the impact her words had on the men, Molly resumed her exploration of the car. She had discerned by now that the unfriendly man beside her was wealthy, if his expensive suit and car was any indication. His bright crystal blue eyes had almost startled her when she first made eye contact with him. Their strong impact probably had to do with the contrasting pale skin and dark hair. Overall, he was a handsome man, even when he wasn't smiling. He looked familiar though, as if she had seen him on somewhere.

Her eyes finally landed on the discarded newspaper that had fallen to the floor. On the front page was a rather large picture of the very man beside her.

"Ooh!" She pointed dramatically at the paper, then back at him before realizing it was probably a rude gesture. "Sorry. Um, are you, _the_ Sherlock Holmes, owner and CEO of the H.H. hotel chain?"

"The one and only" John provided when it was evident that Sherlock was not going to grace her with a response.

"Oh." Molly relaxed back to the seat, eyebrows furrowed. "I thought you would be taller in real life."

John barely stifled a laugh at her comment. Sherlock, who up to that moment had been trying not to acknowledge her, threw her an irritated look and felt a sense of satisfaction as her smile faltered slightly at his broodiness. He wasn't sure why, but her cheerful voice was grating on his nerves.

"I make good use of the short subjects around me," Sherlock responded as he smirked pointedly in front of the car. That insinuation was enough to wipe the delighted look on his face.

"Um." Molly punctured through the awkward silence that followed after. Sherlock barely held back a flinch._There it was again_, he thought bitterly. _What else doe she want to say now?_ "If you're going downtown, I don't live too far from there, so if you could—"

"John please drop her off at the next stop." He interrupted and pointed to the upcoming junction. "I think we've been kind enough."

"Wait!" In a moment of panic, Molly reflexively reached out for his hand in an effort to plead for more time when a powerful electric shock charged through them at their contact. Gasping loudly, Sherlock and Molly pulled their hands back in unison.

John glanced back curiously to see what new development had taken place and was confused to see them each cradling their hands. _Had he missed something?_

"Wow, did you feel that?"

Sherlock did not respond to her question but rubbed his hand thoughtfully. Static shock hardly ever extended passed one's fingertips. However that sensation seemed to have traveled across his whole body. But that wasn't the most intriguing aspect of the encounter. Given her wet clothes, it was highly unlikely for there to be such a drastic charge imbalance to occur between them. As his mind pondered on the scientific mystery, he realized the crossing he intended to have her dropped off had passed by during the commotion. Determined to dismiss her he instructed John to drop her off at the next junction. He'll be damned if he let another distraction interfere with this.

Also having gotten caught up in the moment, Molly's fascination deflated as disappointment filled in. It would seem that she underestimated how black his mood might have been. She was grateful to have gotten a ride so far and was about to articulate her thanks when she caught sight of a ghost on the horizon. He appeared to have been a victim of a car crash, as there were chunks of glass stuck to his clothes, and his head looked sort of bashed in. A terrified scream escaped her throat when she realized the car was going to collide with them.

John slammed the breaks in alarm and Sherlock looked anxiously at the passenger who only a few moments irked him to no end. Certainly her outcry had unnerved them, especially since she was covering her eyes tightly and was begging them to ignore her and move on. Molly sneaked a peek through her hands only to see that the ghost was inches from her face and was curiously looking at her. The crack of the dislocated jaw was the last straw for her and in a reflex grabbed hold of the closest living soul next to her.

It was difficult to tell who was more startled. Sherlock, who hated nothing as much as being touched in any way, or Molly who immediately sensed that the ghost was no longer there. In fact, it seemed to have disappeared into thin air. That had never happened before. Ghosts never departed until they had her complete their unfinished business. She didn't realize she had been holding onto Sherlock's arm until he peeled her off, like she was something contaminated.

John, who frowned at him before turning to Molly. She looked like she had seen a ghost.

* * *

"Marvelous actress she is." Sherlock brooded as they watched Molly's retreating back. "In the hysteria she managed to get us to drive her all the way here."

"I don't think she was pretending. Something seemed to have scared her."

Sherlock knew he was right, but he was not in the mood to in a bad mood, and he felt no need to want to understand someone else's feelings. They had stopped by the closest establishment so she could take a breather and use the washroom, an establishment which turned out to be a local waterhole.

Molly walked rather dazed towards the pub. From time to time she would look awestruck at her hands, then recall how the ghost had disappeared. There was no reason for that to have happened. Ghosts never left until they had harassed her into finishing their business for them. _Why then did that particular one choose to go away so quickly? _Drawing up no conclusion, she shrugged to herself. No point wondering over something she was relieved about. Molly must have celebrated too soon for at that moment a familiar chill crept down her back, and she realized that the ghost in question had reappeared next to her.

"Bother," she mumbled when the shameless ghost whispered his request.

* * *

It might have been because the weekend was over, but the pub was nearly crowded, with groups of people laughing and yelling at the top of their inebriated voices. An occasional drunk would stumble into her on her way to the bar, but Molly wasn't concerned about them. She had long since lost the touch of attracting the opposite gender and was desensitized to the open stares that seemed to follow her wherever she went. The world of the dead was hard enough to handle, she had no room to deal with the living.

The brusque looking bartender manning the bar looked from the glass he was wiping. "What'll it be love?" he asked Molly when sat on one of the two available seats.

"Um, a beer I think. Right?" Molly turned to the ghost beside her who gave an approving nod. "Yeah a pint of beer."

The bartender glanced at the empty beside her but made no comment.

"Comin' right up."

* * *

"Why are we waiting for her?"

Ten minutes had passed since Molly had gone in and Sherlock was beyond irritated that they were actually waiting on her when he had better things to do with his night. He tried to articulate that fact to John and was affronted when John began to lecture him. It was some rubbish about being a good Samaritan, Sherlock wouldn't know for he promptly got out of the car when to see what was taking her so long. Doing so would be much faster than having to endure his friend's reproachful looks.

Sherlock pushed his way through the crowd towards the ladies room when he saw a familiar mat of brown hair by the bar. As he got closer he saw she was having an enthusiastic conversation all on her own.

"So you're saying you died in a car accident because were driving drunk?" To everyone else, she appeared to be talking to the pitch of beer. "And yet you're asking for alcohol?"

Molly scoffed incredulously at the ghost. Apparently looking at it was enough for him. She had gotten used to the ghost's appearance, though the familiar sense of anxiety still buzzed under her skin; that feeling never fades, not since her accident.

They all didn't seem to be as scary once they spoke actual words. This particular ghost wasn't willing to reverse into his uninjured form, but that wasn't unusual, and she had managed to reel back her nerves. After all, he seemed friendly, even if he was incorrigible, she thought as she watched him stare longingly at the drink.

* * *

It was official, Sherlock decided as he watched her exchange an entire conversation with no one. This woman was mental.

"You with her?" Sherlock snapped out of the inevitable was the bartender that had spoken, gesturing to her.

"Absolutely not" he replied, affronted by the suggested association. She appeared to be giggling about something on her own when she heard his voice and turned around to find him. Rather annoyed to have been caught staring in the first place, Sherlock turned away to head back to the car. To his irritated, she followed him right away.

Despite her shorter legs, she seemed to be able to catch up to him.

"Stop following me," he heard her say to someone, or no one. It was already established that she was delusional. "I did what you wanted."

Despite his better judgment, Sherlock turned back he saw her flicking at her shoulder, as if something was latched on to it. What he couldn't see was that the ghost was trying to grab onto her shoulder for attention.

Molly was so busy trying to shoo the pestering soul away that she did not realize how close she had gotten to the CEO until it was too late and she ran right into his back.

Like before, the ghost disappeared immediately, and she now understood why. Amazed, she tugged at Sherlock's arm while still looking out for the ghost.

"I don't believe it. He's gone."

Sherlock all but hissed when he felt her hands on him again. Turning around to indicate just that, he was thrown off by the giddy look on her face. She appeared to be excited about something.

"He's gone," she repeated. "Just like that!" She was patting his arm now as if he was some exotic pet.

"If you must know, there are two things I despise the most in the world" he said through gritted teeth. "Incompetent people who touch my money, and shameless people who touch _me_." He pointedly glared at her hands that were still clutching onto him.

"I chopped off the head of the flower that touched my money, pray tell what should I do with the arm that touched my body?"

Molly retreated her hands back in a flash. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." She laughed nervously. "I have that effect on people." Sherlock gauged her reaction, taking in her abashed face. _So she does have the decency to be embarrassed._

His relief was cut short when she grabbed on again, much harder than before. Obviously she woman wasn't as penitent as he thought.

"It's just that some guy was following and he disappeared the moment I touched you!" She prodded his arm experimentally as she said so, marveling once again at what had taken place. _Could it be his clothes?_ Would she just be fine having something he owns to keep the ghosts at bay? Molly burrowed herself deeper into thought as she tried to understand why the man was able to ward the ghosts around her. Sherlock shut his eyes briefly to summon what ounce of calm he had left.

"There was no one following you." What had he done to deserve this? Interacting with two delusional in one night was going too far. This woman was clearly off her rocker, but there was little he could do about that.

By now he would have shot out some demeaning observation about her, maybe touch on the subject of her sanity, seeing how it would be appropriate for the situation. But he was beginning to think that harsh words may not work on her.

Her large brown eyes were brimming with excitement. About what, he didn't know, nor did he wish to find out. He did admit to himself that it did wonders for her otherwise ghastly face. Upon examining closely, Sherlock realized she was probably suffering from sleep deprivation. It would explain the rings and her pasty complexion. He almost felt sorry for her—he too suffered from insomnia—until her ongoing petting broke through to him, and he realized she was still feeling him up.

"I think he disappeared because of you," she whispered in awe.

They were outside now and he could see John waiting in the car. Deciding that he had enough of all this, he smiled sweetly down at her. "I have been told I have a way of getting rid of annoyances." He slowly wrenched her fingers of him, doing so with a smile of course.

"Care to see how?" Utterly caught up in the moment, Molly nodded enthusiastically.

"Stay right there," Sherlock said as he retreated away from her towards the idle car. By the time Molly realized what he was doing, Sherlock was already in the car.

John, who had been watching their exchange, gaped at Sherlock who dashed straight into the car and made a show of locking the doors as the woman watched in confusion. He knew Sherlock to be childish, but what the hell? Is he going for a record or something?

"Don't mind her, she's insane," was all Sherlock had to say about his actions.

When it became apparent that she was approaching the car and John was not keen to drive, Sherlock snapped.

"Go or I swear I will have you attend all my meetings."

Aware that he had a hard sought out date arranged for tomorrow night and that Sherlock workaholic tendencies would keep him in the office longer than he desired to, John reluctantly drove away.

* * *

The occasional dirty looks from John was starting to get to him.

"What?"

"I can't believe you just left her."

"Not without your help." He pointed out.

"Sherlock!"

"We took her much further than originally intended," he drawled. "I believe I've exhausted the extent of my kindness." He relaxed further into the seat and shut his eyes."It wasn't like she was going to pay for the fare anyway."

"Such a scrooge," John mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I said you're in such a mood."

Sherlock peaked his eyes open to glare at his barely veiled insult but chose not to comment on it. "We're much closer to central London. She'll be fine on her own." Content with his own explanation, which he was unwilling to admit was for his own benefit, he settled further into his seat.

He glanced to the now absent seat beside him and was annoyed to see she had left her raincoat behind. The weather had cleared right before they had stopped, so there was no concern of her being rained on—not that he cared about her well being or anything—the sight of it did irk him so. He poked at the offensive item before finally pushing it as far away from himself as was possible.

The movement revealed the bud of a white rose. His mind flashed back to earlier that night when he had cut off the bud at Jeff Hope's house, and the woman's odd statement about the inquiry. Suddenly his brother's words surfaced to mind.

_'The universe is rarely so lazy.'_

He stopped that line of thought at his tracks and immediately disposed of the flower through the window. Unfortunately for Sherlock, that much was not enough to convince him of the existence of the spiritual. Not yet anyway.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading!**


	3. An Association

It took a bit of maneuvering, and some awkward heart-to-heart talks, but Molly managed to split a cab ride with someone to get back to Baker Street. Making a mental note to carry more cash on herself in the future, she waved goodbye to her drunken companion and crossed the street. The storm had long since passed, and the streams of daylight were already lighting up the streets. The house was quiet, save for the murmur of a telly in the background. She glanced at her landlord's closed door and wondered if she had dozed off after taking her soothers. Smiling, she turned to the staircase and made her way upstairs.

She was grateful that no no ghost had followed her back home. The alcoholic ghost had long since lost his attention after she acquired a drink for him at the pub. How he could still crave that wretched drink in the after life was beyond her. But Molly wasn't terribly interested in thinking about that at the moment. She landed with a huff on the bed and contemplated on the stranger she had met that night.

"Sherlock Holmes," she mumbled.

Molly had long since gotten over how easily she had fallen for his escapade. She could admit even to herself that she may have been a little overenthusiastic. But who could blame her? He can chase away ghosts! With that temperament, he could probably chase most of the human race. Molly giggled when she recalled irritated frown. He really was handsome, she thought. Someone just needed to teach him how to smile more. Not that she could help in that department, what with the gloomy souls that liked to latch on her. Molly ghosted a hand over her palm. It would be a nice change not to have to worry about them, even if for a little while. She couldn't be sure about his ability until she got near him again. Therein lay the problem. _How was she going to meet him?_ Molly rolled over the bed to stare at a spot on her headboard.

The odds of randomly running into each other again were infinitely small, but that didn't discourage her. She supposed he wouldn't want to have anything to do with her. His cooperation wasn't imperative; all she needed was the proximity.

Nothing she had tried up to that point had ever worked to keep the ghosts away. He might be key to finding relief she so desperately needed from her world. The sleep would be wonderful. She couldn't even remember the last time she had a restful night.

"Sherlock Holmes. H.H."

Suddenly she frowned. _Why was the hotel name so familiar?_ She felt there was some other association she had with it. A full minute passed before it finally hit her.

"Oh, of _course_!"

* * *

"Good Morning!" John chirped as he walked into Sherlock's office. He was mildly surprised to find him there so early.

"I agree it's morning but I can hardly say it's a good one."

"Problem with Mr. Hope?"

Sherlock looked up from his files. "What? Oh, no I'm talking about the press downstairs."

"Press?" John pulled out his mobile to check the calendar. They didn't have an event scheduled for the day. _Why would they be here?_

"Anderson," Sherlock answered before he thought to ask.

Well that explained a lot. "Are they here to cover the wedding again?"

"How tactless is he to marry the company's model? I question Donovan's judgment."

John shrugged. "You can't pick who you fall in love with. At least you get free media coverage."

"It's not free if I'm obligated to sponsor the stupid reception."

"Don't let your hatred overlook the monetary value of the event."

The men turned around to regard the woman that had spoken.

"Oh, Miss Morstan! Good Morning." Sherlock glanced up to see the enamored look on John's face. _Typical_.

"Good morning Mr. Watson." Her enthusiasm was much more restrained, but Sherlock knew she was just as excited.

"Mr. Holmes" she placed a neat folder on his desk. "Your agenda for the day. You'll have to make an appearance in front of the press. Anderson will be here in half an hour so I've scheduled you to make a statement with him in forty-five."

"I thought I pay you to deal with the PR nuisances."

"Anderson has already voiced your _enthusiastic_ support for his upcoming matrimony and the journalists will be hounding you for a few statements. Sorry, it can't be helped."

Sherlock scowled at her words. "The idiot's a bother and a liar. How _wonderful_."

"I promise it shouldn't take more than an hour. _All right_, twenty minutes," she corrected when he looked utterly appalled. "It really is important we do this well. The wedding will be attracting some big clients and you can't afford to get on Anderson's nerves just yet. Need I remind you his stake in the company?"

"No need." He brushed her words off. "Why couldn't you have just sent me an email about this? Or was there another reason you felt compelled to tell me in person?" He turned pointedly to a flustered John.

Mary kept a cool facade and even managed to turn the focus back on him. "We all know you don't check your emails and we can't afford you conveniently overlooking the memo by 'accident' now can we?" She was well aware of his antics and Sherlock found himself remaining silent on the matter.

"And," she turned to face John. "I did need a word with your assistant."

Sherlock scoffed as he watched them exit his office.

* * *

John followed Mary out to the hallway and waited, with some apprehension for what she was going to say. _She wasn't cancelling was she?_

"So are we still on for tonight?"

Relief washed over him. "Yeah eight o' clock."

"Good I wasn't sure if Sherlock was going to keep you here after last night."

"Last night?"

"I got a memo about a possible altercation at Mr. Hope's? He's made a few angry calls and one of my people was concerned about a story hitting the press about it."

"Well the story's a bit ridiculous so I doubt it would sell. But I'd be upset too if I were him."

Mary moved in closer to whisper. "Was he that awful?"

"He was _terrible_. I'm surprised he didn't get socked in the face."

They both snickered over that when suddenly their phones beeped.

_Stop gossiping and go earn your paychecks -SH_

John rolled his eyes. "Well the Grouch has spoken. I'll see you in a bit then?"

"Yeah." Mary flashed him a smile at him and John couldn't help returning a goofy grin.

"Please make sure he makes it downstairs."

John nodded off a salute. "Will do."

* * *

Mary was finalizing the press details in the conference hall when her phone rang.

"Molly?"

"Hi Mary!"

She glanced at the watch. "The sun's out. Why are you awake?"

"Don't worry I'll go to bed soon. I just needed to ask you something."

"Sure, go ahead."

"Don't you work at H.H. main offices?"

"Yeah," she replied slowly, not sure where she was going with this.

"Do you know if there are any job openings there right now?"

Mary blinked. "You want to work here? As in have a day job?" Mary couldn't remember when she last had one.

"I'll adjust. Plus this is really important." Mary's eyebrows rose at the urgency in her voice. "I think I found out a way to deal with them!"

Mary didn't need any clarification on what 'them' was. "How?" she asked.

"I'll tell you later. Don't want to jinx it yet."

"Okay, well I'll check listings from my end but I don't know if there's anything good."

"It's fine I'll take anything. I just need to be there." The last word was muffled in a yawn.

"Go sleep. I'll call you later about what I find."

"Wait, wait! One more question."

Mary paused before hanging up. "What is it?"

"Does the CEO work there?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I'm just checking."


End file.
